Taunt, Mock, and Scorn
by Hymntanra
Summary: 300 years ago, Freud was captured by the Black Mage. And the Black Mage is not happy to hear what Freud has to say. Black Mage x Freud, bloodplay. Requested by AskLuminous on Tumblr.


**The stories you read here are NOT yours to take, rewrite, and claim as your own idea. After four instances of plagiarism related to my fanfiction, I am now obligated to place this on every one of my written works. I have given readers fair warning over and over again but it seems that unless I put it straight in your faces, you will not listen. If you ask my permission, fine! But if not...**

**MY STORY IDEA IS NOT YOURS. DO NOT TAKE IT AND REWRITE IT.**

Taunt, Mock, and Scorn

It was uncouth and unforgiveable for the Heroes to be captured. It was, simply, unthinkable that such a thing could happen. None of them expected it. Least of all the most intelligent of them all. The servants of the Black Mage, while often powerful, could never be expected to match wits with the scholar of the Heroes. Even the Black Mage himself didn't match the calculated intelligence of Freud. He was a wise man, and if his immense magic did not suffice to ensure his safety, then his wit usually would.

So it was undeniably shocking when the scholar ended up getting captured.

One of the men on the field, who had been fighting with the Heroes and their allies, would later recall to the others that Freud looked conscious when he was being carried off. It was a look of dull indifference, almost an arrogance smirk. As if this had been the scholar's plan all along. The rest would cast it off as ridiculous, because even Freud with all his confidence would not be arrogant enough to see such a plan as a good one.

The man spent three days in a dungeon, with a collar around his neck and chains wrapped around his wrists. The guards mocked him the first day; on the second day, they sat outside the door with frightened expressions on their faces. When one of the general passed by and inquired as to why they had dropped their attitude, they did not reply. The general looked in through the thick glass to see Freud, smirking back at her.

She hurried away.

On the fourth day, Freud was dragged out of the dark dungeon.

"Where, might I ask, are you taking me?" Freud asked in a pleasant, albeit hoarse and dehydrated, tone. The guards didn't reply. Freud didn't seem to care, though; he hummed a pleasant little tune as they dragged him down the decorated hallways. "My, my, you ARE an extravagant bunch…then again, I guess you can be when you steal all your decorations."

"Shut the hell up already." One of the guards growled, albeit hesitantly. Both of the escorting men knew that this prisoner was not someone to be fucked with. They hadn't wanted to take him out at all, really, but Orca had barked and hissed harsh words at them until they did. The young mage girl was just as scary as the man in their company, really.

Quickly, they shoved the brunette through huge double doors and slammed it behind him. Freud snorted indignantly at them, standing up to dust his robes off. Immediately, the chain on his neck stiffened and he was dragged uncouthly across the room. His eyes stayed half lidded, with his expression entirely far from amused. Especially when the chain rested comfortably in clawed hands. The brunette raised a brow and shook his head.

"Ridiculous thought to bring me here, good sir. I would imagine the Black Mage has better things to do rather than to play around with prisoners of war." Freud chided. The tall man—creature, really—made a low growling sound. "If you think you'll be getting any information out of me, you should probably thing again…"

"I expect no such thing, Freud." The cloaked figure's voice was deep, rumbling, and intimidating. Freud stared back at the man with a face completely free of fear. Certainly, he felt the sharp stab of fear in his conscious, but he would not allow himself to show it. The Black Mage, however, was not a stupid person. "I can feel your fear, mage. You may drop the charade, if you don't mind."

"You honestly believe that I would do any such thing?" Freud said, an arrogant smile spreading his features. "You are more pitiful than I thought, then. Even if I was feeling fear, I am not one who is weak enough to showcase it. Luckily for you, though, I don't have any fear to showcase in the first place."

"I'm sure you can deal out as much lip service as you like, Freud. I know fear when I feel it." The Black Mage's tone was unapologetic and almost impatient. Freud shook his head.

"I can't take a man seriously if he hides behind some ridiculous disguise." Freud noted. The Black Mage grunted. "If you stay behind that stupid form, I shan't bother myself with listening to you."

"You plead a hard case, Freud."

"I do no such thing as plead."

The red slits that passed as the man's eyes narrowed further. "I have warned you before, Freud, to not try my patience. I warned you as such since the first day I met you. Yet you continue to disobey my whims. From day one, you have done nothing but disobey my whims and taunt my generals."

"Did you expect otherwise?" Freud said snidely. "I do not plan to follow the whims of a man who wished my dragon and I to assist you in your sick attempt to take hold of something that you do not deserve to have. You flat out were asking me to join a side that had no qualms in killing innocent civilians, a side that showed no remorse in murder. You wanted me to be on a side that promoted death and destruction as a solution to the problems of the world. The whims, I say, were ridiculous and you should not have even proposed them to begin with."

The Black Mage watched Freud for a good long time; the man's straight forward attitude and arrogant attitude was obviously bothering him, but for a moment it seemed like he wasn't going to do anything. Finally, in a burst of intense wind, his form seemed to grow smaller and his face seemed to become more apparent. As the wind settled, so did his form.

It was a form that Freud was sure had not been seen by anyone for quite a long time. He didn't know how old the Black Mage truly was, but judging by his face, he was only about in his mid-twenties. Around his own age. A bit unexpected, really—Freud had always expected an older man, possibly in his early fifties. To imagine a man so young could possess such tremendous power was astonishing…but then again, Freud was not one to talk. He was already twenty two and one of the most powerful mages in Maple.

But his young form didn't make him any less intimidating. He had burning crimson eyes, narrow and threatening, with a ring of blue going around the pupil. Jet black hair lay messily around his face, uncombed and untamed. His face was long his lips were pressed tightly together; his nose was a tad bit long, and his cheeks slightly sunken. Not too much, but just enough to be noticeable. Freud figured that he had been an attractive person at one point, but now he carried a small hint of sickness in his form. The kind of magic he utilized had always called for person sacrifice, usually of one's own health. It would have been a threat to any mortal man…but the Black Mage was not mortal.

"So this is who you are?" Freud didn't risk a smile. "I have seen your work, you know. The books. Your name…it is Alistair, isn't it? Alistair Creiq?""

The man's hands, still slightly sharp, gripped tightly on the arms of his throne. "You are a clever one, aren't you. As always, you've done your research. I had assumed my books were locked away, but I suppose I was wrong."

"They were." Freud said listlessly. "I tend to break the rules sometimes when I do my research. But I learned there that you were human once, and I figured the form you displayed was a fake one. A show, made to monger fear. But this is really who you are, isn't it? Just a man hiding under your little disguise…you have no control over anything about yourself. Not in reality. You just pretend to do. And without control over yourself, you'll never have control over the world…eventually, no matter what, an erratic man will lose control over every illusion of possession he had."

"…!" The dark mage hissed out explicate phrases under his breath. Then his grimace formed into a sick grin as he tugged at the chain in his hands; it was just enough to pull Freud to his hands and knees. With a groan, the brunette tried to lift himself to his feet. Alistair simply yanked the chain again and knocked the younger mage down every time. The latter eventually relented, staring venomously up at his enemy.

"Are you playing some game here?" Freud asked slowly.

"You say I have no control over myself, thus no control over the world. That eventually, I will lose control over these so called 'illusions' of mine." The Black Mage drawled, seeming amused now. "But that comes to one fact: at the moment, I seem to have control over YOU."

Freud stared at him for a moment through his brown bangs. Then he allowed himself an amused smirk. "Do you now, Alistair?"

"Don't call me by my real name, you piece of shit." Alistair threatened. Freud could have laughed, but chose to keep it back. He instead chose to try to claw at the ground as he was forcibly dragged across the stone to sit in front of the throne, sitting at the Black Mage's feet. The dark mage grinned in delight; the dragging had formed marks on Freud's hand. The scratches bled onto his shoes.

"You seem happy, don't you." Freud said calmly. It almost made the dark mage's blood boil; it perplexed him how the Hero could be so god damn calm. No one brought before him before had left without being reduced to tears. Some were even reduced to madness. But NONE had smiled pleasantly at him.

The brunette mage was taunting him.

Fine. The Black Mage would play his little game.

Using both hands, he dragged the man up forward to his face. Freud stared back, eyes still lacking any sign of fear. Using his clawed fingers, the Black Mage grasped tightly at his cheeks. The nails easily sunk into the pale and delicate skin. Finally, Freud flinched sharply and Alistair grinned wildly as he squeezed the man's face harder. He had finally cracked past Freud's limit—his personal space bubble.

He had an idea.

Drawing the man forward by the face, he forced his mouth onto the mage's lips. THAT got his attention. His wrists struggled desperately to rid of the chains around them but it was to no avail. He hissed loudly when the sharp front teeth slammed down onto his lips, causing a stream of blood and spit to drip down his chin. The Black Mage barely pulled away, keeping his nose against the brunette's. Freud's eyes now burned with contempt—exactly what Alistair had wanted to see when the Hero looked at him. Contempt, hate, disgust. He drank in the sight of such blatant hatred.

"You think you're very in control. Just like me, really." The Black Mage grinned sadistically, tracing long fingers down a red jacket. The long fabric fell atop Freud's lower legs. The flap of fabric displaying his symbol followed; a sharp nail trailed down the pale neck, grasping the white collar. The nail cut cleanly into the crisp white, cutting down his front and leaving a trail of dark red blood. Freud winced. But much to Alistair's distaste, his face had returned to his usual look of smug indifference.

"There's a difference. There's a very large difference, really." Freud said, twitching a bit as the nails rail down his collarbone. "It's very apparent, and I'm surprised the oh-so-brilliant Alistair Creiq hasn't been able to realize it."

The Black Mage grabbed Freud's neck, tightening his hold on the long pale expanse of skin. Blood was flowing so freely over his graying fingers, staining both their skins. But Alistair did not relent; his grip became lethal. Despite that, Freud's unnerving and enraging smile stayed right where it was. Even as the circulation was cut off, even as he was so close to DYING…Freud did not let up.

Alistair dropped him.

Freud stood up quickly, checking over his ripped clothing. The Black Mage absentmindedly snapped his fingers; the bonds on the man clattered to the ground. Freud looked at him curiously, but smiled warmly; it was an expression that Alistair had not been treated to in many years. Almost a decade. But he didn't return the expression; he just watched from the side of his eyes as Freud retreated out the doorway. He flinched a bit when the brunette man stopped and turned back to him.

"There's a different, Alistair Creiq. It's very apparent, and I'm quite sure you will never realize it of your volition." Freud said. His words were so quiet, almost difficult to hear, but Alistair listened to them carefully despite not turning his head to face the brunette mage. "You have an illusion of control—your control exists majorly because you threaten abuse and injury to those you rule. That is the sole reason many people follow your rule: because they fear you. And that is not true power, it is not true control. There is never an instance in which such abuse of power has not been challenged by those who are being abused. One day, without question, you will lose the control of your people because they either despise your rule or are using your position to gain their own."

"I, on the other hand, have a completely different position of control. One you will probably never understand." Freud continued. His tone was becoming increasingly calmer; it was an infuriating tone, but Alistair listened anyhow. "My power originates from the trust people have in me. The reason I am powerful, the reason I am in control…it has nothing to do with my own personal power. I may have all the strength that you have and I may be able to blow people away…but my real power comes from the fact that people support and trust my decisions. They believe that my strategies are the ones that will lead us to victory and a better life for everyone. They don't fear me, so I need not fear them…because I have their trust."

"You, however…" Freud paused for a second, perhaps to drive his point in a little further. "…you will eventually fall. I do not say this from the viewpoint of an enemy, but rather from the viewpoint of someone who has seen the people that you hold such a venomous amount of cruel hearted control over. They won't allow you to have what you want—eventually, you'll lose your control. Whether you like it or not, you will eventually lose the control that you love so much. And the illusion will be shattered completely. No matter how it goes down, no matter if you are killed or sealed, your illusion will eventually be shattered."

Alistair said nothing. He didn't even look at the brunette mage. He simply stared to the side, eyes furious. Freud grimaced, and walked out of the double doors. With his hands free, he would have no trouble leaving the premises. Most of the generals were out wrecking the world anyhow—all that was left was the guards and Orca. And Freud could easily blow Orca into next week…not to mention the guards. Alistair knew that Freud would get out of his prison with ease and go back to his friends quickly.

Alistair growled menacingly as demented thoughts crossed through his head.

"You are wrong." He hissed under his breath. "You are wrong, you defiant little bastard. I'll prove you wrong—I'll watch you all become my slaves. You will entertain my whims THEN, Freud…you'll be my little slave, bowing at my side, fulfilling my whims and needs. All my whims and needs…you little bastard."

But Freud was not there to hear his threats.


End file.
